


The Stars on the Tip of Your Tongue

by thefreakfox



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, POV First Person, Wincest - Freeform, love declaration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 23:09:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1406029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefreakfox/pseuds/thefreakfox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We don’t need much, because we never needed a home outside of each other, we learned that this is our normal, and everything we’d ever need. Dad was an asshole sometimes, but I’m thankful for him teaching us that particular lesson: that as long as we kept each other’s back and each other safe, we didn’t need much else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stars on the Tip of Your Tongue

This fic relies heavily on a rant about James Blunt's "Bonfire Heart" that [eierschalenblau](http://eierschalenblau.tumblr.com) (thanks again, sweetie,it's a pleasure to write with you, and thanks for ranting at me and letting me steal some lines) sent me, because we're both listening to the Moon Landing album rather obsessively these last few days. And I recommend you to do the same, because it's a great album and oh, all the Supernatural feels, it's crazy.  
  
The title is taken from an e.e. cummings quote:  _“Someone asked me what home was and all I could think of were the stars on the tip of your tongue, the flowers sprouting from your mouth, the roots entwined in the gaps between your fingers, the ocean echoing inside of your ribcage.”_

I hope you'll enjoy reading, let me know what you think, either here or on [tumblr.](http://www.thefreakfox.tumblr.com) And now, let's get started!

 

* * *

 

People used to tell me they thought we were like loaded guns – always ready to go off, to maim, to kill. They thought of us as predators ready to pounce. A short fuse burning, and not much time left until the explosion.

I never thought that. Living a life like ours, guns would seem appropriate to describe us, I know. But for me, all we ever were was fire.

We’re sparks, you and I both, and we are cinder, too. Only we never light ourselves, but each other. And together, we burn.

When I was younger I wished we could burn the whole world down, until it was only ashes and dust, and in that we would live, and no one would ever bother us anymore.

Then I grew up and I forgot.

You were always by my side, Dean, always. Others you shot to pieces with your sharp tongue, remarks mean and hurting and always so pointed as if you were able to see inside their heads.

Me, you never hurt. Not really.

Sure, you said and did things that hurt like hell. Sometimes you did aim at me, too; when you were hurting and the fire burned you too bad. But I like to think these moments were like stray bullets, not deliberately aimed at me; or that you took care to miss your target so it wouldn’t hurt too bad.

To me, you were loyal. Loyal to a fault, some would say. They never understood how you carved out the lines of your loyalty. They only saw an abusive and absent father, a crazy baby brother, a drunk, an angel, a prophet, a vampire. They never saw why you valued us so much, and I guess sometimes, neither of us did.

Family doesn’t end with blood, Bobby always said, and you stood by that more than anyone I ever knew. I don’t know where your loyalty came from, if Dad planted it in your head, or if it was always there. I don’t care whether it began the night you carried me out of the fire, or when Dad told you the first time to “watch out for Sammy”.

I was never jealous when Dad told us that Mom had thought angels were watching over you. I didn’t need angels; I had you. Funny that, of the two of us, I was the one that came to believe in them.

When times are hard, when I’m that close to letting go and running away, I like to think of the nights we spent together as kids. I can almost hear you complaining now, _“That’s what you think of, Sammy? Nights when we were kids? And here I thought I entertained you better when we were older!”_

I know, I’m lame, I’m a romantic, I’m a girl. Call me whatever you like, big brother, but that’s how it is. We used to sit on the hood of the Impala and watch the stars, just you and me. And I sometimes thought that it was hard to decide what was better: looking at you or just looking at the stars. Sometimes the hood was still warm from an especially long drive, or because the black had soaked up all the sunlight over the day. Those were nights when I felt so incredibly alive; it didn’t matter that we had no mother, and that we lived in a car, that our dad was probably as crazy as they come, and that we never stayed long in one place. I was much too young to understand all of it, much less articulate what I felt. But I felt good, and safe.

Then I grew older and I forgot.

Puberty hit hard. Suddenly you weren’t only my brother Dean, you were also a young man called Dean who had all the things I dreamed of – beginnings of a beard, and muscles, and broad shoulders, while I was busy not strangling myself with my own limbs that seemed to grow longer every day.

Freckles, Dean, for God’s sake. I guess that’s what broke me, your goddamned freckles.

Do you know how hard it was to ignore you? We had always been close, but now I wanted to be even closer, to have you near me all the time. It was the summer when you told me to leave you alone and not always follow you around. You tried to be annoyed, but you failed; I saw your smile and I knew you were secretly basking in the light of the hero-complex I had developed.

At least that’s what Dad thought. If he’d ever guessed why exactly I refused to let you out of sight for just two seconds, he would’ve chucked me right in the next best deep body of water, with a brand new pair of concrete boots.

From that point on, my time was split up between lusting after you and convincing myself it was wrong and disgusting. You had set me on fire for the first time and now it was my job to try and put it out, because it was pretty obvious that it wasn’t allowed to love you _like that,_ no matter how much I wanted to.

Then I got older and I forgot.

Ours is a love that people write about, a love that people see and want to have, only they say it’s wrong because we’re brothers. I never got that, how on the one hand, they glorified death-defying love, and on the other, they damned the same love because we’re siblings.

They want our love for their own, but at the same time they are afraid of it.

Stupid people, don’t they realize that, when you play with fire, you will eventually get burnt?

I never minded setting you on fire, I never minded watching myself burn. It was bound to happen some day; and when it was our turn, I was glad.

And yes, we hurt each other so many times, we’re really good at that. We know where it hurts the most, we know where to press. But I wouldn’t want to have it any other way, I could never trust anyone else with knowing so much about me, knowing all of my weak spots. I only wonder if you know that of all my weaknesses, you are the greatest.

I said I thought that we were bound to happen, and I stand by that. Living like we do, growing up like we did – all the days in the backseat of the Impala (oh, and how I hated it when you were promoted to navigator and got to sit in the front seat, not because I wanted to do it, but because it felt like you left me) when it felt like Dad wasn’t even there, like we were the only two people in the car.

And the nights when you held me, whenever I got afraid or worried or just couldn’t sleep. Looking back on all of that, it really shouldn’t come as a surprise that we became so co-dependent that even Heaven and Hell picked up on that.

Whenever something bad happened; Dad missing Christmas, or my birthday, or my graduation, or when Jess died, when I returned without a soul and when the wall broke down, every time I felt so incredibly cold that I thought I couldn’t ever get warm again, you were there for me to warm me, to light the fire between us again and again.

I know I hurt you bad with my wish for a normal family. God, how I hated to look you in the face after you discovered that one of my favorite memories wasn’t one of you, but the one with the family dinner. I never had the guts to tell you that it was one of my favorites because while I was sitting there, all I wished for and imagined was that we would have something like that one day. That’s why it was there.

Yeah, I still think about that sometimes. I like normal, but I like our normal the most. I like that our normal means that we don’t need ‘normal’. I know that if there was only one thing we were allowed to keep, we would always choose each other, no matter how fucked up our relationship sometimes is.

We don’t need much, because we never needed a home outside of each other, we learned that this is our normal, and everything we’d ever need. Dad was an asshole sometimes, but I’m thankful for him teaching us that particular lesson: that as long as we kept each other’s back and each other safe, we didn’t need much else.

Shit, do you remember the first time we realized that some monsters were just plain old humans? It shook us both badly, I remember that. It’s so much harder to process evil when it’s human-made. When it’s not a demon or a bite or whatever that made them be a monster, when they are just bad people that are fucked up.

It’s so hard sometimes, going through this life. I remember you when we were younger, when nobody believed you that you saved lives. When they all laughed at you, thought you a freak, or a show-off, or just a liar.

It’s hard to walk around, knowing we saved the world, that we save people, and they still hate us because while we saved them, we also brought knowledge of evil in their lives. It makes me desperate sometimes. I’ve been through so much – we’ve been through so much – and I try to be good, to do good. And then there are all these people, not giving a damn about each other.

It used to depress me, you know? Because every time when I grew up a little more and became older, and forget what I had with you, it felt like I lost you. I left you when all I wanted was to make you mine.

Because I might have forgotten about us sometimes, but I also remembered us later, remembered what we were for each other.

Fuck, big brother, I remember. I remember all of it, all the hurt, and the love, and the laughs. I remember all of it crystal clear. How we both needed each other so desperately but never managed to break through – until one day, we did.

You were finally mine and I felt like I’ve felt before, like we were both fire, ready to burn down the whole world.

I don’t give a fuck anymore about whatever people think about us, Dean.

Let’s do this.

Let’s show them our bonfire hearts.

Let’s burn this fucking world down and dance in the ashes.

 


End file.
